


Disclosure

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Morphology [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, reformed!Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hannibal begins to feel like a broken record when his and Will's relationship is revealed to all and sundry.</p><p>The amazing <a href="">FeoplePeel</a> made a cover for this fic!!! You should <a href="http://feoplepeel.tumblr.com/post/86972853860/disclosure-by-finely-honed-part-three-of">put your eyes all over it</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disclosure

Not surprisingly, Jack Crawford was the first to figure it out. One didn’t become the head of Behavioral Sciences at the FBI without being a practiced observer, after all. Still, Hannibal was mildly amused it had taken Crawford as long as it had, considering he and Will had been together for more than 3 months before anyone was the wiser. He wondered what the final tip off had been. After all, Jack Crawford had, on more than one occasion, dined upon the very victims he was sworn to mete out justice for, a fact that never failed to warm the cockles of Hannibal’s heart. 

“I’m glad you find this amusing, Doctor Lecter,” Jack barked. Apparently, some of Hannibal’s pleasure had slipped past his habitual control and made an unwanted appearance on his face. He felt the blame for this should be laid at Will’s feet; after all, it was Will’s fault smiles came easier these days.

“Certainly not,” he conceded, punctuating the remark with the briefest of respectful nods, hands clasped behind his back. “I understand your concerns, but as I’m sure you’re aware, I am not Will’s psychiatrist.”

He received a particularly piercing look. “Bottom line. Will this interfere with his ability to catch killers?”

“Has his work suffered, as of late?” Jack glared at him from behind steepled hands. Will’s work hadn’t suffered, after all. If anything, it had improved. Hannibal continued. “An imagination like Will’s needs something, or someone, to serve as an anchor.”

“And you’re his anchor, doctor?” Jack cocked an eyebrow skeptically, but his body language  changed as he shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Fine, but I’ll have my eye on him. On both of you.” And that seemed to be the extent to which Jack planned on discussing the matter.

Hannibal watched as the two frowning halves of his reflection met each other in the closing doors of the elevator. It was all so anticlimactic and unbearably boring. Why bother mentioning it at all? Perhaps the others would at least present him with more entertaining reactions. Despite the fascinating new stimulation Will had introduced into his life, Hannibal felt he had so little with which to amuse himself these days.

 

* * *

 

“Well, Beverly knows,” Will announced, not bothering with any sort of polite greeting as he entered Hannibal’s house, beginning to shed his jacket as he headed for the kitchen. This was becoming a habit with him.

“And what is it Agent Katz knows?” 

That earned him a withering look. Whatever its intention, the expression only served to stir up something altogether primal in Hannibal. He crossed the room to Will with long, purposeful strides, pinned his arms behind him by taking firm hold of the jacket Will was still attempting to shrug out of, and kissed him hungrily, with teeth. Will strained to meet him, giving as good as he received, until Hannibal stepped aside, leaving him panting and pink in the cheeks.

He returned to the dinner he had begun preparing before Will’s arrival, smiling softly to himself as the other man finally entered the kitchen, looking slightly stunned. “That. Beverly knows about _that_ ,” he said, gesturing emphatically in Hannibal’s direction.

“What makes you think this?” he asked, returning to his chopping.

“Apparently,” Will began, sauntering over to where Hannibal was working in order to steal away a carrot, “the evidence was all over my face.” He paused for a moment before adding, “or, not all over my face.”

“Are you referring to your clean shaveness?”

“I was... teased. About it,” he explained, forcing the words out around a mouthful of carrot, gesturing toward one of his smooth cheeks. “One look and she started giggling.” 

And oh, how she had giggled. Thankfully they had been alone at the time. She had been mid-sentence when she’d looked up and abandoned her previous topic. “You look like you’re twelve,” she had exclaimed, merrily. “What’s the occasion?”

There hadn’t been one, really, aside from Hannibal asking permission to do so the previous evening. Remembering the act of the shave made Will feel very exposed. He hadn’t expected to, but had thoroughly enjoyed having Hannibal fuss over him with the straight razor, positioning and repositioning him as he worked in clean, efficient strokes to remove Will’s facial hair. It had felt extremely intimate and he had used all of his restraint to keep his hands off of Hannibal as he worked. After had been even more fun, Hannibal’s tongue tracing the newly bared contours of Will’s cheek, his jawline, working his way up to his ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth to bite down. Will especially enjoyed rubbing the smooth curves of his face over every growing inch of Hannibal until the doctor took hold of Will once more, this time positioning him in far more interesting ways.

Somehow, Beverly picked up on the direction his thoughts had taken, because a moment later she was squealing. At least that was the only word Will felt adequately described it—a squeal. “Stop,” he begged, folding his arms across his chest self consciously, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Oh wow, _he_ shaved you, didn’t he?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Wait,” Will had stammered, not sure how she’d managed to make the leap to the truth so effectively. 

“I knew it! I knew there was something going on,” she continued, paying no mind to Will’s noises of protest. “C’mon, he _smoulders_ at you.”

“Do I, now?” Hannibal mused, interrupting the retelling of the story. Will momentarily sucked his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it. The site made Hannibal’s mouth water.

Will cocked his head to the side just a bit, swallowed the last of his carrot before arching his eyebrows expressively at Hannibal. “Definitely.”

“Does this bother you?”

Will crossed the kitchen intent on showing the good doctor how little it bothered him. Hannibal decided to forgive Beverly Katz her teasing of Will. This time.

* * *

 

Bedelia had found when conversing with Hannibal that carefully crafted moments of esurient silence were as important as words. They had done their dance at the entrance, her allowing him to take the lead this time, following slowly as he entered her home, making his way to her office. He clearly had something of importance to discuss, as he bypassed the chairs altogether and positioned himself at the window, hands in pockets.

As if actors on a stage, she took her cue, arranged herself artfully across a seat opposite, the picture of an appreciative and attentive audience. As she waited, she watched the sunlight and shadows play across Hannibal’s unmoving features as if he were a sculpture to be appreciated.

Bedelia did not fear when in Hannibal’s presence, although it would have been an acceptable reaction given her, albeit limited, experiential knowledge of him. She felt they were partners in a dance of innuendo and half truths, but the choreography was always respectful and carefully constructed. And so she did not fear.

Long before her practice had gone the way of all flesh, Dr. Du Maurier had within her collection of patients one victim of the romanticism of vampirism. The young woman had closed herself off from the potentiality of true intimacy with another living person, as no mortal seemed to hold the allure provided by her fictional obsessions. Bedelia had listened, had counseled, could easily grasp the concepts clinically, but never truly understood the appeal.

This was before she had met Hannibal Lecter. She certainly didn’t think him a vampire, that would be gauche, but could easily imagine her former patient finding Hannibal amaranthine enough to safely love. Bedelia would go so far as to admit to herself that if one day, perhaps in a fit of boredom or whimsy, Hannibal revealed he was really something other than _Homo sapiens_ , she might believe him. What that _other_ would or could be, she was unsure, she simply knew he was fascinating. Her most enduring imaginings involved him unhinging a gilded panel within his chest to reveal the clockwork man residing beneath the expensive suit.

As if finally satisfied that the mood had been appropriately set, Hannibal spun on his heels, never one to keep his back to her when discoursing. “I have taken Will Graham as my lover,” he announced.

Her reaction must have lived up to his expectations. The joy that took possession of his face was a true Duchenne smile, causing rather disarming crows feet to appear around his eyes and exposing the pointed teeth usually kept hidden within his clever mouth. She involuntarily thought once again of vampires and otherworldly things, and felt foolish for doing so. The most remarkable thing about the spectacle had been the truth of it; Bedelia was convinced it was the first she was actually seeing her patient exhibit genuine emotions.

“An interesting choice of words,” she finally, carefully replied, rising from her seat, taking a moment to correct the fall of her immaculate hair before approaching Hannibal.

“Will Graham is worthy of interest,” he countered. His expression had once again settled back into its careful neutrality. “I no longer serve him in a professional capacity,” he reminded her, leaving the “upon your advice” unspoken between them.

“This is true.” They circled each other with deliberate slowness, exchanging places so each stood beside the appropriate chair, one the place of the psychiatrist and the other of the patient.

“The construction of emotion is subject to constant change and redefinition,” he continued, seating himself with fluid grace, crossing his legs, hands resting innocently in his lap. “I have simply allowed Will to redefine me.”

“I doubt there is anything simple about it.” She followed suit, seated herself across from him. They sat in another moment of careful silence, somewhat resembling two poised, living bookends. “As your psychiatrist, I would be remiss in not calling your attention to the fine line you find yourself walking.”

“Without risk there can be no reward.” A sly smile graced his face, one which Bedelia returned, wondering to herself all the while if Will Graham really had any idea what it was he had entered into.

 

* * *

  

“Abigail,” Hannibal said, his tone brooking no argument. She flinched, although he hadn’t raised his voice in the least. Nevertheless, his disapproval of her comment was palpable.

“Well you are,” she replied weakly, shrugging her shoulders as she fidgeted with her shirtsleeves absently.

“Be that as it may, there is no need to be vulgar,” he pointed out, seating himself across from her at the table. Behind him, Will placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before taking the other unoccupied chair. He had looked particularly aghast when, almost during the first moments of their visit with her, Abigail had rather accusingly asked, “You’re fucking each other, aren’t you?”

“I don’t care if you are,” she explained, blinking heavily as if to hold tears at bay.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” Will said, pleadingly. “We should have.” He looked to Hannibal for assistance, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

There had been an air of dejection surrounding Abigail since she had abandoned her plans with Freddie Lounds, apparently deciding some doors were best left closed after all. Will was, it seemed to Hannibal, increasingly on the receiving end of her bad temper.

Hannibal still found himself conflicted when in her presence. She was fascinating in her own way, if only for the danger she still posed. Once upon a time, he would have given very little thought to the ending of her. While there was much Will could accept thanks to his remarkable empathy, Hannibal doubted very much he could ever expect forgiveness if it was discovered he had murdered Abigail Hobbs. It would crush the man, utterly.

“Will is right,” he said, tilting his head slightly in order to make eye contact with the girl. She gazed back, unflinchingly. “We should have been more forthcoming. After all, we’re a family now.”

She smiled weakly at that, nodded. “I really don’t care,” she swore, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I just... don’t want any more secrets.”

Hannibal held her gaze unblinkingly, wondering once again what was to be done about this young woman. She looked away, ingratiating herself with Will by taking his hands, asking after his health. All the while, Hannibal watched the two of them through hooded eyes, running the word ‘family’ over and over in his mind, enjoying the uncomfortable alienness of the word.

 

* * *

  

Neither of them were aware of it, but one afternoon at a crime scene Brian Zeller slapped a twenty dollar bill into Jimmy Price’s waiting hand, cursing as he did so. “Told you,” Price taunted in a sing-song voice. “ _Friends_ do _not_ smile at each other like that over corpses.”

“Real mature guys,” Beverly chided, shaking her head at them. The three of them watched as Will and Hannibal drove off together, oblivious.

 

* * *

  

Somehow, it seemed fitting to him that Alana was the last to know. Hannibal suspected wilful ignorance on her part. She had, more so than the others, been presented with ample evidence. She had simply chosen not to draw the appropriate conclusions.

She had remarked on the change in Will, both to the man himself and to Hannibal, perhaps hopeful about the promise this change might hold for herself. 

On no less than three occasions she had stopped by to chat with Hannibal of an evening, only to find Will already, unexpectedly there. Each time, he found himself wondering how she could not feel the electric tension in the room, powerful forces seeking to expel her intrusion. 

Following that, he had interrupted them, for a change, sauntering into Will’s lecture hall as if he owned it. He delighted in the conflicted play of emotions Will exhibited upon his arrival. His body seemed to simultaneously reach out for and shrink away from Hannibal’s own, his face painted with vulnerable strokes of unease as he stammered a hello. 

Things had finally come to a head when she had taken it upon herself to check on Will’s dogs while he was out of town on a case with Jack. She hadn’t expected to find Hannibal there. He was still unshaven and only partially dressed, having spent the night in Will’s home, an indulgence while the man was away. 

Will’s pups were positioned around him in a semicircle, each waiting patiently for their name to be called and a treat to be offered. While he preferred his animals artfully arranged on a plate, he felt it more beneficial to a conducive relationship with Will if he ingratiated himself to the dogs. They may not have looked to him with the open adoration they showed Will, but there was, at the least, a burgeoning shared respect between them. 

“Alana. What a nice surprise,” he had said, sounding neither surprised, nor particularly pleased, as he tossed the last bit of sausage to Winston. Everything must have finally clicked into place for her in that moment, because suddenly Alana couldn’t seem to get away from him fast enough. 

That had been earlier and the effects had apparently worn off, as now she seemed more than ready to talk with Hannibal. Or at him, to be more precise. Hannibal was certain Will would be both upset and relieved that this had taken place in his absence. 

She had been a whirling dervish of effrontery upon entering his office. He couldn’t help but notice the skin around her eyes was an enchanting shade of sorrowful pink, reminding Hannibal that it had been far too long since he’d tried his hand at watercolors. 

In his own particular way, Hannibal was quite fond of Alana Bloom, but he was growing bored with her tirade. Ethics, morality, next would follow a reminder that he was Will’s doctor. “He’s your patient,” she hissed, disappointing him with her banality as she jabbed her finger in the air, as if adding necessary punctuation to the statement. 

“He never was officially my patient,” he answered coolly, rising from his seat, feeling as if he had been having the same conversation over and over again. He traced the wood of his desk lovingly as he stepped out from behind it. “Regardless, I recused myself from that role in his life before entering a relationship with him.” 

The word relationship had the desired effect. Alana’s mouth quivered dangerously and for a moment he thought she would begin screaming at him. He thought he might enjoy watching her scream. “I don’t have the restraint of some,” he added, taking a moment to straighten his jacket. “I’m afraid I let my feelings get the better of me.” 

He watched the outrage and, yes, that was guilt, flash in her eyes. “You should know better than this, Hannibal,” she insisted. “You think this is bad? Wait until Jack Crawford finds out!” 

Hannibal summoned his closest approximation of a repentant look, aimed it in her direction. She moaned slightly in disbelief before dropping into one of his chairs like a puppet with cut strings. “He already knows, doesn’t he?” 

“Alana,” he began, “I’m sorry.” He approached her carefully, as if she were a wounded animal, liable to lash out. “I,” he paused for a moment, unable to help himself, “we never meant for you to be hurt by this.” 

She was shaking her head, pointedly looking away from Hannibal. “Of course not,” she hissed. “Why would you?” 

As they shared an uncomfortable silence, Hannibal thought fleetingly of the lives he had ended in his office, Miriam Lass in particular. For a time, he had wondered if it might one day come to that with Alana. Out of a sense of fondness, he had purposefully kept her preoccupied with other tasks so she wouldn’t become entangled with the Chesapeake Ripper case. Watching her now, remembering, he didn’t feel particularly like gloating any longer, even if her pain was delicious. After all, he imagined it was something Will would frown upon if he were there to bear witness. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of him,” she finally demanded, glaring up at him with determination. “And don’t for a minute think this means I think this is a good idea, Hannibal” she added, pointedly. “It’s highly irresponsible.” 

He was courteous enough to look away momentarily, retrieve the box of tissues he kept on hand for such purposes, and offer them to her. There was a telltale tremor in her hand as she tore one loose, eyes blazing. He resisted the temptation to stroke her hair, gave her physical space instead, retreating to one of the large windows in his office. 

As he pulled aside the curtain to peer out into the evening, he wondered if she had been tormented on the way over by sordid imaginings of the two men together, and if it had repulsed or stimulated her. Thought of a very different evening when Will had run to him on the heels of a kiss with Alana Bloom, how the thought of it had twisted in his mind like a well placed blade. If his and Alana’s roles had been reversed... Well.

He allowed the curtain to fall back into place, glanced over his shoulder at his colleague. Perhaps he would have to watch Ms. Bloom carefully from now on. After all, he had no intention of sharing Will Graham with anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully the characters feel in character. No beta, so please do let me know if you feel I managed to get things horribly wrong.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Disclosure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770837) by [Eridanie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridanie/pseuds/Eridanie), [Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed)




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